


In Memory Of You

by alchemicals



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Magic, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Obsession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemicals/pseuds/alchemicals
Summary: It's the end. The Battle of Hogwarts has been won and Voldemort's followers have fleed seven ways to the wind. Whilst celebrations happen in the ruins of the castle, Harry and Draco are hit with a spell-gone-wrong. Trapped in the Infirmary until their memories can be returned safely to them, the two boys must find a way to work together to conquer their nightmares.But what if the accidental spell wasn't so accidental? Suddenly, Hogwarts doesn't seem so safe, anymore.





	1. a brief hello to madness

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this prompt on the Drarry Amino and I thought it was A BRILLIANT IDEA and I wanted to make it my own. So, enjoy :D  
> Don't forget to leave a kudos <3 and comment! tell me where you think I'll take this - I want to add in a massive twist, so give me your ideas!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco wake up to madness.

The only thing Harry Potter felt was numb. He couldn’t move and his limbs resembled brick and mortar rather than flesh and bones. His survival instincts kicked in, and Harry kept the rising panic building in his chest at bay as he opened his eyes to survey his surroundings.

There was a whitewashed ceiling above him, and he could feel sterile sheets against his bare arms. He must have been in some sort of hospital, then, if the acrid smell of medicine was anything to go by. Trying to search his memory, Harry almost fell off the side of the bed when nothing came up. Blank spaces in his head stared at him, sizeable gaping holes that had once held pockets of information.

With all his efforts - which turned out, unsurprisingly, to be none - Harry tried to push himself up into a sitting position. His arms held at the elbows for about a split second before they wobbled, sending him crashing down onto the mattress with the unmistakable thud of his headboard hitting the wall.

Footsteps hurried closer to him and all Harry could do was sit back. Fear spread through him like wildfire, flowing into his bloodstream as he tried to recall who on Earth this person could be, or if he’d ever been in this hospital before.

At least he remembered what hospitals were.

“For the love of Godric, Mr Potter, calm yourself down,” a matronly woman bent over him, adjusting his pillows so that they leaned up against the headboard.

Surprisingly strong arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, and Harry tried not to snap at the nurse - he assumed she was a nurse, anyway - she was only trying to help. Armed with the extra strength, Harry shoved himself into a sitting position that made the small of his back twinge in protest and his slight headache from before increase dramatically.

“There you are,” the nurse nodded. “Now, how are you feeling, Mr Potter?”

Harry didn’t answer. He glanced around the hospital ward, surprised to see that it wasn’t as huge as he’d thought it was going to be. In fact, it looked as though it belonged in a school of some sorts. At the end of the room, down the far right was a large set of oak wood double doors that presumably led into the school.

The room was clean, organised in a neat way that places of healing had down perfectly. Whites complemented the vivid green of some of the plants that littered the corners and shelves. All of the beds had bedside tables next to them, made of a pale wood that Harry recognised as birchwood. How useful.

All the beds in the hospital room were empty, all of them except his own. And another one, directly to his left. He glanced over, where a scruffy figure rustled underneath swathes of bedcovers, only to emerge seconds later.

It was another boy. Harry watched as the boy sat up groggily, long, pale fingers rubbing his eyes. Slightly miffed that this stranger seemed to be doing fine without any help from matronly women, Harry turned away, just as three visitors crowded into the hospital room.

“Ah, finally, you’re here,” the nurse said, stepping away from Harry’s personal space.

Each one of the visitors was strange-looking, in their own way. One was a woman with grey hair tied up into a tight bun at the top of her head. She wore long black robes with a tartan trim and seemed to be holding a large portrait that was half her size.

The other two were far more imposing characters - although the woman’s puckered face did make Harry want to cower in his bed - and were both men. One was impossibly tall, with greasy black hair that floated about his face in a loose manner. His robes were velvet and scraped the floor with a theatrical swish everytime he moved.

And the last man… held a striking resemblance to the boy in the bed right beside Harry’s.

His platinum blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail at the base of his neck, piercing eyes surveying the room. They seemed to glint strangely as they landed on Harry, and the man glanced away. His gaze landed on the still-sleepy boy that was looking severely disturbed, now that Harry paused to look at him.

He was also annoyingly striking. His hair was like his father’s - Harry thought that was more likely than brothers - but it was softer, and tousled where he had slept on it. His grey eyes were molten, and no recognition flashed across his face when his eyes met Harry’s.

Harry mustered up the dregs of a smile, although his heart was hammering. This whole incident was making him want to bolt out of the window. The boy nodded back, almost imperceptibly, but Harry took it as greeting enough and turned back.

All four adults were staring at the two of them in shock.

“Draco, what is the meaning of this?” The blonde man's voice rang through the room, and Harry squinted at the volume of it. His question had sounded a lot more like a declaration than a question. “Get out of that bed, right this instant!”

The boy, Draco, did nothing of the sort. Instead, he crossed his arms petulantly and stared the man in the eyes.

“I have no idea who you are, so don’t tell me what to do.”

Silence settled over the room. Harry looked at the woman, who had busied herself by setting the portrait on a nearby moving trolley and was currently directing it to stay in between Harry and Draco.

“Draco, you will not talk to your father like that -” the greasy, big-nosed man started, but Draco interrupted by getting out of bed.

“My father?” His face had gone a bit slack, and his legs trembled to keep the weight of his body off of the floor. “If that’s true, then how come I don’t remember you? I don’t remember _anything_.”

The nurse stepped up, trying to forcefully relocate Draco back into bed. “Not even him?” She stared pointedly at Harry, who furrowed his brows.

Why would Draco remember him? Until the greasy man had said his name, Harry hadn’t the foggiest as to what to call him. Draco was probably calling Harry himself green-eyed-freak in his head.

 _How useful, Harry!_ He thought to himself. _Green eyes, well done. You remembered that much, who knows what’s next?_

“No! That’s what I just said. Nobody rings any sort of bells. I don’t even know where I am!” Now Draco just looked ready to jump head first into insanity. His pale skin was flushed an angry red, and his mouth was drawn up into a snarl that felt both new and strangely familiar to Harry.

“Calm down, young Malfoy,” the woman with the hat said. She peered at the two boys overtop her gold-rimmed spectacles. “Give your father a chance to speak with you.”

Draco deflated as all the fight went out of him. Harry wondered when his own process would begin. The realisation would hit him incredibly hard, and he’d crash just like the blonde. He returned to the conversation.

“Come on, Draco. I may be able to forgive this schoolboy prank, but it is time for tea, now.” Draco’s dad waved a hand imperiously, as though trying to summon the boy.

But Draco stayed exactly where he was, his gaze averted.

Harry cleared his throat. Everybody turned to stare at him, their eyes expectant. Though Harry could see the contempt in Draco Senior’s eyes. He decided to ignore it.  
“If it’s not too much bother, can you please tell us what’s happened?”

It was seriously starting to bug him that nobody thought it was appropriate to tell them just why the hell they were stuck in the middle of a hospital ward, listening to three people wearing weird dresses.

The greasy man spoke up, sneering at Harry. “Unfortunately, Potter, not all of us are on your beck and call, so we were not present to witness exactly what happened.”

Harry was taken aback. Why did this man seem to hate him so much? He hadn’t done anything (well, that he could currently remember, and that wasn’t a whole lot right now.) yet the greasy man seemed content to glare at him all day.

“Severus!” The woman said sharply, her eyes narrowed. “The boy has just gone through a traumatic experience. We need to know the scope of the damage.”

Draco Senior shook his head. “There has been no damage. Potter is merely screwed up in the head after the war and has found a way to drag my son down with him.”

The nurse sighed heavily, shaking her head and stomping away. Harry thought he could hear her faint mutters about ‘this not being good for my patients.’

“This is why I have brought Albus with me,” the woman said. She turned to Severus, who was nearest the portrait. Harry realised that it was empty, the gold frame encased nothing but a background painted in a royal shade of red.

Severus tapped the frame.

Harry watched with unhidden interest as an old man with a long, flowing white beard stepped into the painting. For some reason, this wasn’t as mind-blowing as Harry thought it ought to be. It almost seemed as though he were just that little bit used to it already.

The old man levelled his gaze with Harry’s, and twinkling blue eyes greeted him over half-moon glasses.

“Ah, Harry Potter. How nice to see you, my boy.”

Harry blinked, glancing around the room. It honestly felt like a trap. All the adults seemed to be expecting something, as though they were waiting for him to suddenly refill the blank spots in his memory.

“I’m sorry, I don't think we've met.”


	2. the great and mighty portrait of dumbledore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore sheds light on an otherwise dark situation.

If there was one thing that Draco Malfoy remembered that he hated, it was this feeling of helplessness. Being unable to search through the murky fog that encased his mind, being forced to sit back and watch as other people solved his problem for him - he  _despised_ it. Waking up to emerald green eyes staring at him had been unnerving, and it had taken a good few minutes of conversation before Draco could pinpoint the other boy's name.  _Harry Potter._ How common.

But the boy himself wasn't so bad. Apart from Draco's so-called father that had tried at being kind, Harry had the only person to openly smile at him. The lopsided grin had frozen Draco in his tracks, and all he'd been able to manage was a slight nod. 

The sight of the bearded man sliding into the portrait was one that Draco felt as though should have shocked him, but he'd only been slightly surprised. Mildly interested, to put it better. The twinkle of blue eyes seemed familiar to him, and he desperately tried to snatch at whatever ghost of a memory that floated around in his head, but it was no use. It was lost, as soon as he'd thought about it.

"Draco, it would do you some good to pay attention to what Albus is saying." The woman, Minerva, broke Draco out of his useless attempt at figuring out his past. 

He glowered at her, seeing no reason to dignify the interruption with a response, but diligently returned to the topic of conversation at hand. The portrait of this 'Albus' fellow had paused in his speech and was now looking at Draco expectantly. Draco sat up straighter, his fingers clenching in anxiety he didn't really understand. Something told him that this man was to be respected, despite the benevolent demeanour he put on. Something also told him that he'd somehow disrespected this man severely once before, and he had no idea what he had done.

"As I was saying, young Draco, I alone witnessed exactly what happened to the both of you." Albus nodded, stroking the full length of his beard with one hand. "It was the most peculiar circumstance. One young Conor Murray had a mishap with his confetti spell and ended up conjuring the strangest grey goo from his wand. The substance fell onto the both of you, and in a flash of muted light, you both slumped onto the floor."

 Draco frowned. Some kid did this to him? Somehow that irked him far more than the fact that a portrait was  _speaking_ to him about spells and conjuring. He remembered those things from his childhood. It was only the more recent years - as well as a few people - that were a blur in his mind.

His father looked ready to spontaneously combust. He kept his composure well, but Draco could see the irritated twitch his left eye did every so often. 

"I will not stand by while you tell me that a First Year has rendered my son incapable of casting the most basic  _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " He hissed, rapping his long cane on the floor of the Infirmary. 

Just as Severus opened his mouth, the other nurse rushed back inside, waving her arms about. "No! That is enough! Everybody out so that my patients can have rest. I will not deal with that behaviour in a place of healing. Out!"

She clapped her hands, hurrying the other adults out of the room. Just as she closed the door, she stuck her head outside. "You may return when they are feeling better. Then you can berate them with your questions, but not a moment before."

Slamming the door closed, the nurse shook her head, clucking to herself. She hurried over to Draco and Harry's beds.

"I am Madam Pomfrey," she sniffed as she said it, as though she'd never had to introduce herself to anybody in her life. Draco found it amusing. "I will be taking care of you for the duration of your stay. First, I think, we will begin with breakfast and a bath."

She pulled out a stick, and Draco saw as Harry stared at it with surprise. Had he not had magic in his childhood, then? Or perhaps they didn't remember the same things. Frowning, Draco almost missed as a tray balanced precariously on his raised knees. He grabbed it and looked at the contents. Toast, jam, honey, cereals, pastries - everything under the sun was piled high onto a few plates.

"Who's going to eat all this, then?" Draco asked, even as he'd broken apart a Danish pastry to try a bite. "If I keep eating like this, I'll get fat."

Harry snorted, and Draco whipped his head around to glare at him, but Harry had covered the side of his face with inky black curls.

"Nonsense, Mr Malfoy. You are both far too malnourished, which I cannot blame either of you for, but you must eat." With that, Madam Pomfrey nodded and swept away. "I shall prepare a bath once the both of you are finished."

It was the first time they'd been left alone since they'd woken up. Draco wasn't sure if he liked the feeling.

Not having his memories grated on his nerves - he couldn't help but think that hugely important pieces of his life had been ripped away from him. He also wondered where they'd stashed his wand. Surely this could all be fixed with a simple Memory Charm? There were some things in his mind that stood out with perfect clarity but ultimately weren't that useful to him. All the times he'd rubbed one off by himself in a green bed with the curtains drawn tightly around him. Some of his drawings, and one painting that he'd done of a willow tree. But he couldn't picture for the life of him who his mother was, or who his friends were.

"It's weird." Draco looked up to see Harry's gaze already trained on him. His heart tripped over itself.

"What?" 

Harry gestured to both of them. "This. I feel like I know you, but at the same time, I've never seen your face before. And just looking at you sort of..."

"Pisses you off?" Draco tried.

"Yes! Honestly, I thought I was being a complete prick, hating somebody who's only just woken up."

It  _was_ weird. Draco took Harry in. He certainly did look familiar, but with that familiarity came dull emotions that skimmed across the surface of his mind. One was clear as rain - annoyance. The very presence of the other boy made his toes curl with a hatred that he didn't understand. 

"Do you suppose that out there," Draco pointed to the door. "Everybody knows us as enemies?"

Harry paused, looking thoughtful. He'd found round glasses on his bedside and had shoved them on, and Draco thought they obscured the brightness of his eyes. After a while, Harry shrugged. "What does it matter, right now, anyway? As far as I'm concerned, I've never met you. I'm Harry, by the way."

Draco blinked. "Draco. My name is Draco."

The other boy nodded, shoving an orange slice in his mouth. "Strange name. What's it mean?"

"It's the Latin word for dragon. Or serpent."

A weird facial expression flitted over Harry's face. Draco sat up, watching him intently.

"What?" He asked. "Do you remember something?"

Harry shrugged. He was completely back to normal. "It seemed like I would, for a moment. But it's lost on me. Something about snakes, though."

He went back to devouring his breakfast, and Draco sat back again, a sigh escaping him.

"The brain is a strange thing," a voice said. Draco looked down - straight into pale blue eyes. Dumbledore's portrait-self had been left behind in all the commotion. "We hardly remember that it's there until something peculiar interrupts its daily procedures. Be it Muggle brain diseases, or accute Memory Loss spells in wizards, it is a rather underrated organ."

Draco rolled his eyes. If the old man had something to say, he wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"The spell that Mr Murray produced is one that I've never seen before, myself," Dumbledore, oblivious to Draco's irritation, continued on. "I dare say that a standard Memory Charm will not be able to revert the effects. In fact, I don't believe the counter-spell resides anywhere here, in Hogwarts."

Harry's brows furrowed. "But why?"

Dumbledore's smile faded, and for a moment, he looked every bit the grave, dangerous wizard that commandeered respect. Draco could see it in the hardness of his eyes. 

"Because, my dear Harry, it may be written in a book long banned from reaching student's hands. Not since the last boy to use it... well, let us say he did not turn out so well." With that, the man made of paint strokes and tubes of colour stepped off the side of his portrait, disappearing to wherever it is that he went during those times.

Harry rubbed at his eyes. "Well, shit."

Draco couldn't help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you :D Thanks so much for reading this, leave a kudos if you liked it, or if you want more! (Personally, I have no idea what I'm doing but it's reassuring having people who think I'm doing alright lmao)


	3. nightmare fuel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry dreams of a fallen castle and the spoils of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you :3 Make sure to leave a kudos, it really helps me out and lets me know that you're enjoying the story <3  
> BTW I hate long paragraphs of Italics so I'm starting each dream sequence with a line in italics, and two **. The dream sequences will also end in a line of italics and two **.

Harry and Draco managed to avoid taking a bath together up until it was time for bed. According to Madam Pomfrey, they could not be 'stinking up her Infirmary any longer'. A grey fuzz had built over his teeth and he stank of dried sweat mingled with blood, something that worried Harry, but he wasn't sure how to go about asking what had happened to them.

Sometimes, he fancied that he could just about grasp the edges of memories, but they dissolved into dust that dispersed into the air as soon as he tried to focus on them. Harry shook his head, a fine layer of sleepiness coating his actions, making them slow and languid. He glanced over at Draco, who wassat slumped in his bed, anxiously playing with his fingers. 

"Alright?" Harry quipped, avidly watching the long, pale digits slide over each other. 

Draco paused, glancing up. "Hm? I mean, yes. I'm alright. I'd just rather not have a bath anywhere near you."

Harry's blood prickled, and he tore his eyes away from Draco. "Prick. Can't believe Madam Pomfrey only has one bathroom here, too."

"It's complete codswallop!" Harry heard Draco stand swiftly. "Telling us she can't afford to waste what limited water this place has left. I don't care! Surely a separate bath won't kill everybody?"

Harry thought it wise to say nothing, which proved useful as the woman in question strode into their private room. Minerva McGonagall had erected walls and a two-way mirror so that they could see out without others seeing in, which was handy. It made Harry a little claustrophobic, but he could tell that Draco liked it. He shuddered, something in him hated that he could read the other boy a little bit easier from one day together.

"Boys," Madam Pomfrey greeted. "It is time for your bath. And don't give me that look Mr Malfoy, you know very well that you are both grown adult wizards - I'm sure you can handle a bath."

She stood there until they both got up, dragging their feet down to the back of the Infirmary. Lights flickered on as they passed by, and the door to the washroom was already open. Draco peered in, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"What?" Harry snorted, slipping past the blonde boy. His chest pressed briefly against Draco's shoulder as he entered the room. "Not the 5-star hotel you're used to?"

The anger in his voice surprised him. He wasn't sure where that had come from, but somehow it felt right. To be annoying Draco - Malfoy? - like this. It was who he had been. And Harry wanted so much to hold onto who he had been, it was his only identity.

Draco said nothing.

The room was a few inches bigger than their private room. The walls were wood but painted the exact same shade of brilliant white as the rest of the Infirmary, and cold, grey tiles slid along Harry's bare feet. Along the edges of the walls were benches and lockers, and toiletries were stacked on shelves in the corners of the room. In the middle, however, was the biggest brass tub Harry had ever seen. It looked a bit old-fashioned, with the copper taps and bath legs, but it could surely fit in the size of three people, let alone two.

Relief flushed over Harry, then. He wouldn't have to deal with accidentally touching Malfoy after all!

"Thank Merlin and Morgana, both." Draco swept into the room, already divesting himself from the hideous hospital-issued pyjamas Madam Pomfrey had given them. 

Harry promptly turned around, his heart pounding in his chest. "What are you doing?" He asked, trying to keep his panic out of his voice. 

"What the fuck are you on about, Potter? She told us to have a bath and that's what I intend to do." The sound of running water filled the room. "It feels like I've been filthy for ages, and I hate it."

This familiarity, borne of spending every waking moment today together and mixed with the inescapable fact that Harry does know Draco somehow, relaxed him. It felt like coming back to a home that didn't really like you but tolerated your presence anyway. It was comforting.

Slowly, Harry peeled his sweat-drenched pyjamas from his body, folding them and putting them on the edge of a bench. He grabbed a bag of toiletries and jumped into the bath, all without daring a glance at Draco. 

+

Harry watched Draco stare out of the Infirmary window at the dark night outside. He wondered what the other boy was thinking for a brief second, but then decided he was too tired to care. Approaching Draco, Harry leaned against the windowsill and nodded as the blonde furrowed his brow in greeting.

"I don't suppose you'll let me stay here for a bit, would you?" Draco said, turning back to the window.

Harry shrugged. "Madam Pomfrey said to go to bed at a reasonable time. It's past midnight."

"Funny," Draco breathed. "I never pegged you as one who would follow the rules."

Smiling briefly, Harry tugged Draco into their private room and shut the door. He entered his bed, drawing the covers over him. "Yeah, well, technically we've known each other for a day."

"It seems so much longer."

Harry didn't say anything in response, because what was there to say? He closed his eyes and listened to the lights turn off automatically. Madam Pomfrey had gone to bed ages ago in her small apartment behind her office by the entrance to the Infirmary, so they were all alone. 

Sleep came far too easily.

_** Harry was so numb. So cold. Pain skimmed across his bones like ice, spreading inside of him._

The castle was in ruins. His home spread out before his feet like an offering, brick and mortar and stone in large piles that held the death of an old generation. Just children. That was what they all were - only kids forced to dress in adult robes and fight a war that was never theirs, to begin with. Harry blinked away the tears of anguish. All around him, people wept into the cloaks of those they loved, rejoicing in the end of the battle. It was over.

They had finally won.

So then why didn't Harry feel like it? He crept along the remains of the walls, aching to get to his best friends. But bodies were strewn across the ground, blocking his pathway. He tried to step over them, but in his mind they reared up, far larger than he was, clouding him in the blood and despair of their unnecessary murders. Harry felt their deaths like a sharp stake in his heart.

"Harry, there you are!" A girl with bushy hair ran towards him, nimbly picking her way through the river of carnage as though she were used to it. "We were looking for you everywhere."

A boy held onto her hand, one with hair that resembled a carrot. They both looked worse for wear and yet in this dream, Harry did not recognise them. They were his friends, he knew that much, but their names escaped him. 

"Yeah, mate. I can't believe it, it's finally over." The boy grinned, yet his eyes were tinged with sadness. 

Harry shook his head, staring around the Hall, trapped in the confines of his mind. The spoils of war were not as he imagined it. "It'll never be over."

And then their expressions of concern melted, their faces morphing and pregnant with writhing things that sucked their eyeballs from their sockets. Harry watched as his best friends transformed into giant, undead monsters.

_And then he woke up. **_


End file.
